Vampire Bite
by Chatting Airborne
Summary: After a hurt puppy wanders to Sally's door at night, Sally barely escapes the beast that injured it. In between the arrival of a new student and the onset of strange events in Sally's coastal village, the students of her school realize that there are monsters amongst them, and that they must band together and stop them.
1. Peter

Adriana raced up the stairs of the apartment after the sounds of screaming trailing down from the top floor. "Victor!" she shouted in despair, rounding the hallways towards their bedroom as the screams tapered off. When she opened the door, she was astounded and horrified by what she saw. A great beast sat perched atop her husbands groaning head, his entrails dangling from her ghastly teeth.

"Grooosssss!" Pence bellowed, throwing popcorn at the TV as Hayner fell out of his chair laughing. "This is a good one!" he whispered, picking up the popcorn pieces off the floor and popping them into his mouth one by one. Olette wrinkled her nose as he did so, shaking her head. "You're the gross one." Her insult was interrupted by Hayner, who threw the remaining piece of popcorn on the floor at her head, making her screamed and throw her own popcorn at him. When the battle got out of hand Hayner stopped it with a single shout, commencing picking up the popcorn from around the TV room. "My mom is going to kill me if this mashes into the carpet," he complained, picking a piece from under the TV. "Where is Roxas?" he added, poking his head up from the floor. Pence and Olette shrugged together, gaping as the beast on the television flew at the protagonist, engaging her in a battle for her husband's remains. As Adriana popped out the beast woman's eye, Olette decided that she'd had enough. "I'm going upstairs to paint," she sang, but Hayner stopped her. "The last time you painted in my room you got ink all over the floor," he hissed, and Olette pouted, but sat down with reluctance.

There was a knock on the door and Pence jumped up to get it, setting his popcorn under his arm with gentle care as he trudged towards the door. He peeked through the keyhole, but his eyebrows furrowed as he turned to face his friends. "It's Peter," he muttered. Hayner stared at him in shock, before clapping his hand to his forehead and closing his eyes. "I'll get it," he muttered. Olette and Pence glanced at each other, before charging behind the couch to hide. "What are you doing?" Hayner snapped, and the two grinned and giggled. "We don't want to ruin your reputation," whispered Pence, beaming. Hayner rolled his eyes and left the two of them, unlocking the door and opening it. Peter Pan stood in front of him with wide, excited eyes before pushing past him and looking around his house. His eyes settled on Olette and Pence and he wrinkled his nose, pointing at them in distaste. "Why are the pariahs hiding behind your couch?" He asked, to which Hayner scowled, shooing Olette and Pence away. "They're my friends," he muttered, setting the pillows aright on the couch. Peter snorted and shook his head, continuing to stare around Hayner's place.

"Nice abode," Peter announced, grinning wide and glancing at Hayner with eyes that gleamed mischief. When he couldn't contain the secret he had been holding in, he clapped his hands together and set them on his hips, whispering, "Hercules and Shang are totally checking my profile," tapping his feet as if ready to lift off. Then he scowled. "If you didn't hang with the pariahs, you'd totally be in the elite's friend group. You're ruining it for me too!" he added, pointing at his chest with his forefinger. Hayner's face became red, and he gritted his teeth, banging his hands on the back of the couch. "How is it my fault?" he hollered, making Peter set his hands on his hips in defiance. "Because you and I are friends!"

Hayner stared at him for a moment, before rolling his eyes and beckoning for him to sit at the kitchen table. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Olette and Pence sneaking up the stairs and towards his bedroom, but he did not stop them. Instead he redirected his attention to the boy in front of him. "Why are you really here?" he asked, making Peter chuckle. "Your house is free," explained Peter, indicating with his hands. "Herc said I should totally host a ballin' party, but my place is off limits," he scowled. Then he brightened, pointing around Hayner's kitchen. "Major nice bar area, man."

"No," Hayner replied flatly. There was a stare down between the two boys, until a scratching at the front door and a whining noise caught them off guard, scaring Hayner. He hid behind the kitchen island table in fright while Peter rolled his eyes and opened the front door. A little dog sat tied up to the stair railing at the side of the door, pawing at the side of the house to get in. Its eyes were wide and frightened, and its hind legs shivered. Peter furrowed his brows at the dog, looked to either side of the street, and shrugged, untying it and letting it run inside the house. The terrier whizzed behind the television and hid there while Peter shut the front door and returned to Hayner. "That was the weirdest thing ever," he mumbled, "he's usually so brave!" Then, the color drained from the boy's face and he flashed a sheepish grin at the blond boy. "Can I hang with you cool kids for the night?" he asked. Hayner rolled his eyes but nodded, beckoning for him to come upstairs. "But first, you meet my friends," explained Hayner, knocking on his bedroom door and calling for Olette and Pence. The two peeked their heads out of the room and waved at Peter, who waved back with reluctance. "This is Olette, the artist," introduced Hayner. Olette gave a shy smile, but Pence beamed and introduced himself, holding his hand out for Peter to shake. "I'm Pence!" he announced as he grasped the red headed boy's hand, shaking it with vigor. Peter ignored him and turned to Hayner.

"So, party at your house Friday night?" he chirped. Hayner snorted and shook his head. "Over my dead body," he warned, eliciting a round of applause from his friends. Peter stared at him with an unforgiving expression and shrugged, folding his arms in front of him. "Maybe I'll risk going home," drawled Peter, narrowing his eyes at the three teenagers. "It stinks in here," he added, wrinkling his nose and descending the staircase. "Come on, Tink," he called to the puppy behind the TV, but the terrier would not budge. Its tail was wrapped tightly between its legs, and it began to whimper louder, as if it was crying. Peter shuffled in discomfort, curling his fingers into fists. "Dammit, dog, come on!" he muttered, though he was losing heart. When the dog would not budge further, Peter picked it up by the scruff of the neck and carried it in his arms out the door. He stood on the doorstep for a moment, pondering on whether he would actually take the next step. But, he did not want to be caught hanging out with the pariahs. So, he let his foot fall on the second step down towards the sidewalk, and scrambled forward, whizzing down the side of the road towards his house in sudden fright.

Hayner watched him from his bedroom window, leaning out of it with his hand rested on his cheek. He sighed, shaking his head, and turned to Olette and Pence, who were despondent. "What's with the long faces?" Hayner boomed, grinning as widely as he could, but Pence just shrugged, fiddling with the disposable camera that lived on his neck, and Olette stared at Hayner with sad eyes. Then she smiled and gave him a hug. "Thank you for being our friend," she whispered, patting him on the back. Hayner hugged her back, feeling unbelievable guilt on behalf of Peter. "I'm sorry I know jerks like that," he muttered, smiling at Olette and Pence. "I'll never act that way to you guys, I promise." Olette paused for a moment before grinning, and Pence resumed his usual brightness, clapping his hands and taking a picture of the other two hugging. "I'll develop this and we can frame it," he sighed with happiness, caressing the little purple camera in his arms. "Another wonderful memory of our friendship."

Hayner did not say it, but he knew in his heart that every time Pence did a quirky thing like that, caressing the camera, and saying that weird stuff about friendship, that was when he revealed himself to be a dork. Olette and Pence didn't mean to be uncool, they just were. Everyday Hayner thanked his lucky stars that he was a great baseball player. The whole team looked up to him, and the coolest senior, Hercules and Shang, were always asking him if he wanted to sit with them at lunch. But Olette and Pence had been Hayner's friends since they were all in diapers. And ever since his dad left, he'd resolved never to leave the people he loved behind. And there were few people Hayner loved in the world. First came his mother. And then came his best friends. He couldn't for one second bring himself to imagine a world without them.

...

Sally sat up by flashlight sewing shut the hole on the backside of the only skirt she owned. It was red corduroy with little pleats at the hips, and she wore it every day to school because it matched her hair. She liked to think it drew attention away from the scars on her face. She hummed as she worked, examining her progress as she sewed, holding it up to the flashlight and peered at it with one eye. Then she would return the thing to her lap and continued, pricking her finger every once in a while. Downstairs her father was taking medicine for the hacking cough that had been following him for the past month. She could hear the screech of his wheelchair as it traveled across the old wooden boards of their home.

The pair inhabited a little hut at the edge of town, near the forest that lay behind their house. It stretched on for a few miles, rising up into the hills to their rear. The sun set behind those hills. Every day as Sally caught the train home from school, she would watch it, until it was a sliver in the sky, painting the world in pink light. That was Sally's favorite moment. The final debacle of the heavens, the onset of night, when evil things scurried about, and the shadows grew and engulfed all in their path. But then, Sally thought, perhaps the _final _debacle of the heavens would be when the sun exploded, or even further than that, when the whole universe stretched its arms so far that it could not keep itself warm. It would utter its last breath, like everything else, shiver, and die. A tear escaped Sally's eye as she thought about it, and she squeezed her hands together. Then she sighed. "I wish I was an adult," Sally murmured, running her fingers around the side of her corduroy skirt. She hissed as she ran her finger against the needle she was holding, and put the broken skin to her lip, sucking on it.

A pattering sounded from beside the bed, like the gentle tap of a set of long, spindly fingers. Sally glanced towards the left wall window, turning herself so that she could see out of it, and gasped. Five little fingers with sharp black ends tip tapped against the window pane, beckoning for her to open it. There was a moment of silent inner communication as Sally pondered on whether she was dreaming or not. Then, she screeched as loudly as she could and bolted out from her room, charging down the stairs towards her father's study, where he conducted his experiments. "Father!" she called, her voice reverberating on the walls. Responding was her father's signature grunt, echoing towards her from where he was hunched over against the floor; examining a rat as it flailed in a trap he had set for it. "We shall cook this one," he chuckled, pocking at its little legs as it gasped for breath.

"Father, there's a person at my window!" croaked Sally, trembling with fear. Her father ignored her, crushing the rat's head with a book he was meaning to throw away. "Put this in the trash, darling," he sang, flinging the bloodied book at her. She caught it with a yelp, scurrying into the kitchen and throwing it in the trashcan near the backdoor. As she washed the rat brains from her fingers at the kitchen sink, a strange sound entered her ears. It was such a sweet sound that she could not recognize it for a moment, and her head pricked up with curiosity. She tiptoed towards the backdoor and touched her heart. The voice outside was one of fear. Then little paws clicked against the grass of the backyard, running towards the hut. There was manic scratching on the back of the door, and whining. "What is that?" Sally's father growled from his study, and Sally opened the door and caught the animal, a little blond dog, in her arms, shutting the door tight behind her and locking it twice for good measure. The little dog flailed and kicked in her arms, biting at her wrists, but she was able to calm it by singing it a lullaby.

"_Oh say, do you know_

_That a long time ago, _

_There were two little children,_

_Whose names I don't know. _

_They were stolen away_

_On a bright summer's day,_

_And left in the woods _

_In a place far away. _

_And when it was night_

_So sad was their plight_

_The stars were not out_

_And the moon gave no light_

_They sobbed and they sighed_

_And they bitterly cried. _

_Poor babes in the woods!_

_Poor babes in the woods!"_

The puppy stopped crying and Sally noticed that it had a large piece of skin torn away from its neck and side. She gasped as she looked at it, and began crying, but she was able to rush the dog into her father with shaking hands before she fell into a complete puddle of tears. "Father, could you please help this creature?" asked Sally, holding out the dog for her father, who snarled at it and wheeled away from her towards a different table. "Why don't you sew the thing up?" he barked at her, putting the dead rat in a jar with vinegar. "Since you're such a good seamstress it should be easy for you."

"But I want it to live!" Sally cried, cradling the puppy against her chest. The old man glared at her and sighed, rubbing his face. Then, he wheeled into the kitchen and searched around in the freezer for skin samples he had collected from other creatures. "I will create a allogeneic skin graft for it," he explained, looking for a terrier sample. When he found it, he beamed and removed it from the fridge, wheeling it back into his study. "Give me the pup," he added, holding out his hands to Sally. The girl stared at him in discomfort, holding the dog tightly, but her father beckoned for it and she reluctantly agreed. As he examined the creature, the old man muttered, "He is bleeding profusely. We need yarrow," clicking his fingers. Sally walked into the kitchen and hunted in the pantry, trembling when she found that there was no fresh yarrow left. "There's nothing!" she called. "It's just on the edge of the forest!" her father replied, making Sally's shoulder's sink. She glanced outside the backdoor towards the woods with deep dissatisfaction, but as she heard the whimper of the pup she picked up her courage, extracted a sharp knife from the cupboard, and fled out the back door. Her feet were silent as she padded across the back yard, searching in their little garden to see if they had planted any yarrow, but there was nothing. Then, her eyes fell on the forest ahead and she sighed.

She closed the little white garden gate behind her and padded towards the mouth of the great forest, searching its edges for any patch of yarrow plant. She scowled when she could not locate them, but as she peered further inside the forest's depths the clouds moved from the sky overhead and the moon bathed the forest floor with soft light. Its rays fell over a small patch of leaves about twenty feet in from the first line of pines, covered with misty dew. Sally's fingers trembled as she closed them around the knife set inside the pocket of her dress, and she pursed her lips before clearing her throat and continuing the lullaby she had sang to the puppy.

"_And when it was night_

_So sad was their plight_

_The stars were not out_

_And the moon gave no light_

_They sobbed and they sighed_

_And they bitterly cried. _

_Poor babes in the woods!_

_Poor babes in the woods," _

Sally reached her right hand out for the cluster of yarrow ten feet in front of her, ignoring the sound of snapping twigs at her back.

"_And when they were dead_

_The robins so red_

_Took mulberry branches_

_And over them spread_

_And all the day long_

_They sang their poor song_

_Poor babes in the woods!_

_Poor babes in the woods."_

"Yes!" she whispered, ripping up several pieces of yarrow by the roots. The soot that clung to their spindly bottoms disconnected and rained over her feet as she shook them out.

There was a crunching sound about five feet away from Sally, and she whipped around and stepped towards it, gripping the knife in her dress with tight determination. "Is someone there?" she called in a gentle voice, counting in her head as she walked forward. Her house came into view ahead of her as the trees about her thinned, but her fingers trembled with terrible jolts. "Are you the one who hurt the dog?" Sally added, stopping and listening. The wind moaned as the clouds overtook the moon once more, and the light that had shone over the forest's depths disappeared. Sally's eyes adjusted to the darkness and she moved again, listening once more. "Did you hurt the dog?" inquired Sally.

There was a pondering silence, and then the sound of tapping on skin. "Yes," a soft, rich voice sang from the shadows to Sally's right, tapping its skin again. Then, the sound stopped, and a black tipped hand slid around the side of the tree the creature was hiding behind. Sally's hands gripped into fists and she stepped towards the tree with quiet footsteps, careful not to break any leaves under her feet. There was shuffling behind the tree, as the creature decided whether it would come out or not. "Where have you gone?" it added in concern, its hand gripping the bough of the tree it held tightly. "You are so quiet I cannot hear you," murmured the creature. A pale foot stepped out from behind the tree, then a clothed leg, and then a torso. Sally crept towards it until she was three steps distance from its foot. Then she slipped the knife from her pocket and whispered, "I'm right here," ducking and digging the blade into the pale thing's belly as it sprang towards her with outstretched arms.

The howls of the creature grew faint as Sally ran towards her house as fast as she could, but to her dismay the sound of running feet padded ever closer to her. She gripped her long red hair in her hand so that the creature could not take hold of it, and as she cleared the forest she hopped over the back of her garden fence and charged for the back door, glancing behind her to see where the creature was. She gasped as she saw it climbing over the garden fence, but as she reached her hand around the knob of the back door, she screeched for it to stop, throwing her outstretched palm in front of her. The creature halted, concealing itself behind the little bushes on the far side of the garden, and hissed in confusion. "You are not invited," Sally murmured, opening her back door. The creature snickered, and she noted its shape move over the fence and scuttle towards her on all fours. But before it could come near her, she flung open the back door to the kitchen and shut it behind her, locking it and barring it with one of the table chairs. The creature thudded against it and tapped its fingers on the screen to get Sally's attention, but she ignored it and set the knife into the sink, running the yarrow into her father.

"You were fast," he blurted out as she trudged in and set the plant in front of him. He sifted through the leaves and pressed them over the dog's wound, humming as he worked. The skin graft was bathing in a type of saline solution the father had discovered during one of his experiments. Sally watched as he gloved his hands and removed the graft from the solution with a pair of tongs and set it over the wound, which he bathed with care. "Give me the needle and thread," he murmured, holding his hand out to Sally, who nodded and set the supplies gently in his palms. He nodded and brought them towards the unconscious dog, singing with glee as the needle punctured the skin of the graft, then the skin of the dog. The area around the dog's gash had been shaved and the dog's collar removed, and the graft was sewn on in a matter of ten minutes. More yarrow was set over it, mixed with a strange orange paste that was also patted onto the wound. The dog's neck was bandaged, and her father set the dog into Sally's arms again, watching with a sigh as she cradled it.

"You know it is not yours," announced the scientist, and Sally nodded, ignoring him. "I know," she whispered, rocking the dog back and forth as she left the room. "And you know you will have to return him to his owner soon!" the old man added, and Sally nodded again, whispering, "I know," as she shut her father's study door and climbed towards her bedroom. She hummed to the dog as she set it at the top of her bed, shutting the blinds of her window. She tucked the dog in and kissed its cheek before returning to her red corduroy skirt with a satisfied yawn. "I will wear this tomorrow," she sighed, finishing the last few stiches and setting the skirt back in her bedside drawer. "But first I will finish my homework," she added, taking her pile of treasured school books and working well into the morning, falling asleep at her desk as the sun peeked out from the eastern sky.


	2. Sally

Hercules's alarm clock was his father, Zeus, whose favorite morning activity was bashing into his son's bedroom to wake him up and exercise with him. He was feeling operatic today, and clambered up the stairs singing a selection from Faust, tapping his feet as they hit the ground.

As he crashed into his son's bedroom he boomed, "What's the menu for today, sonny?" and clapped his enormous hands right in front of Hercules's face. Herc winced at the sound vibrations that assailed his eardrum and shrugged, rolling over and trying to go back to sleep. But his father would give him no piece of mind. "Come on, boy, up, up!" he roared in a low bass voice, jogging down the stairs. Herc pulled on some running clothes and slapped his face to wake himself up, scowling at the sight of the stove clock as he jogged by the kitchen. His mother wasn't up yet and it was still dark outside, but his father was already in the front yard doing stretches. Herc joined him for five minutes before they set off down the lane. They ran an hour every morning, thirty minutes to the edge of town near the entrance of the national park trail, and thirty minutes back. Sometimes they ran for forty minutes, twenty to and twenty back, which gave them twenty minutes for strength training before Herc got ready for school.

His dad's knees had been acting up lately, so Herc was certain that today was going to be a forty-minute run by the river that flowed near their house. As his father announced that his knees were giving him a barney, Herc nodded, grinning in satisfaction at his deduction skills. "Beautiful day," his father sighed as they ran, sucking in a breath of spring air. "Watch your allergies, dad," Herc warned, but his father waved him off, sneezing loudly a few moments later. "Its the honeysuckle," he muttered, jogging up right near the edge of the river and admiring the view. Herc was running beside his father with his head to the ground when he noticed little spots of red dotting the ground before him. "Dad," he muttered, stopping, but his father continued running, oblivious. By the time Zeus realized his son was not beside him, Hercules had already discarded his shoes, descended the riverbank, and waded towards its center, peering through the water in puzzlement.

"Hercules, this isn't a sight seeing trip!" his father bellowed over the edge of the bank, but Herc ignored him, scanning the water more carefully. Something caught his eyes at the side of the bridge ahead and he gasped, sloshing towards it as his father jogged towards him, skidding down the bank and stopping at his side. "You halted our run because of a dead cat?" the old man snapped, setting his hands on his hips, but Herc shook his head, poking the cat with a stick. Its head fell away from its body, which was now nothing more than a hollow case of ribs and skin. Flies crawled inside the animal's dead eyes as Herc peered into them with a wrinkled nose. "Something slashed this thing's neck," he muttered, "and ate its insides."

His father shrugged at his side, climbing the riverbank in disinterest. "We've got bobcats," he sighed, "Now we've wasted five minutes looking at a dead animal." With that he charged off across the bridge, beckoning for Herc to follow him. The boy took one more look at the cat before saluting it and sprinkling a little bit of dirt over it. The flies buzzed away as the soil fell over the cat's face, and Herc stepped back, climbing up the bank and wiping his feet on the grass before returning his shoes over them. Then, he built up a jog and rejoined his father for the remainder of the run.

...

Sally woke up with the indentation of her pencil on her cheek and gasped at the clock on the side of her desk. She had a moment to brush her hair and tie it back in a tight high ponytail, and then she slipped on her patched corduroy skirt and a yellowing lacy blouse. Sounds of a whining animal entered her ears and she glanced at her bed, where the little puppy she had saved was stretching. It tried scratching at its neck, but Sally picked it up and cradled it, stopping it from messing with the bandage. Then, she hoisted it around her shoulder and hurried downstairs, slinging her backpack over her other shoulder and slipping on her black Mary Jane's. She grabbed a pop tart from the cupboard in the kitchen and charged into her father's laboratory, going for the sink. After bathing the puppy's wound she put fresh yarrow on its graft and covered it with clean bandages. She'd given it a kiss goodbye and was just leading it back up to her bedroom when her father wheeled in from the back yard and pointed to it with his forefinger. "That animal is not staying here!" he snapped and Sally's shoulders sagged. She stared down at the puppy, which shook its neck in frustration, trying to indirectly itch its healing wound.

With pursed lips Sally ran to her bedroom and hunted around for cardboard. Then, she fashioned a cone for the puppy's head and tried setting it around it. The animal winced in pain when Sally tried to wrap the cone around its neck, so the girl threw the makeshift cone to the side of the room, thinking of what she could do instead. "I shall take you to the vet's down the street," Sally whispered, kissing the puppy on the nose. She slipped the dog into her school bag and hurried back down the stairs, calling 'bye' to her father before she left. Then, she was off down the lane, towards the bus stop. The old 7:30 double decker chugged towards the stop and heaved before it as its wheels settled and its door opened. Sally hopped on and sat at the front of the bus, which was empty except for a muttering hobo. "To the train?" the driver asked, and Sally nodded, letting the puppy cuddle against her stomach as she looked out the window. Soon the train station lay before her and she exited the bus, running towards the ticket booth with her backpack held against her so that the puppy would not jump out. Sally purchased her ticket and walked towards the platform, looking around her to see what people were getting on the trains.

There were business people with suits and briefcases, and teachers and blue-collar workers. There were students, too, a few of whom Sally recognized. One girl, whose name was Snow White, had a sheet of music held in front of her, and she was reading over it. A blood red hair band pulled her bobbed hair back, and her dark locks curled perfectly under her ears, like a night cloud. She was the palest girl Sally knew beside herself. The girl's honey colored eyes rose from the page she was reading and met Sally's, growing wide with horror. They quickly returned to the page they were scanning before, except this time they seemed a lot more interested in the sheet before them. Sally stared at Snow, watching as beads of sweat formed on her pale forehead. She wiped them off as she distributed the page back to her backpack, hugging herself in discomfort. The sound of grinding wheels accompanied the oncoming train, heading towards the station, and Sally peered down the tracks to see how far away it was. The train pulled in front of them and everyone boarded it. Sally stood, giving up her seat to anyone who wanted it. Snow White made sure she got on a different train car to Sally, and Sally's shoulders sagged.

Often Sally imagined running into one of her fellow students and sending their books flying. Then she could pick them up and hand them to the student, who would take them and thank her with reluctance. Sally would compliment them and they would beam and shrug with pride. Then they would compliment Sally and she would have a new friend. But high school didn't work that way. Sally didn't dare knock anyone's books down for fear of black lash. She'd gotten a few interesting nicknames already due to the scars on her face, and she preferred not adding to the list. The only person who was nice to her was Jack Skellington. On the first day of school she had tripped and he'd picked her up. He was a very tall and thin boy, with dyed white hair and deep dark rings under his eyes. He'd told her he was severely anemic. "If I get a paper cut I'm dead meat!" he'd announced, grinning with brilliant white teeth. Then he'd ridden off on his skateboard along with a few other boys, one of whom looked more like a man in his late twenties than a student. Come to think of it, Sally wasn't sure that that one _was _a student.

The train stopped in the city center and Sally stepped off, hurrying towards the veterinarian hospital at the end of Main Street. When she peeked inside she saw that the place was quite busy, over run with sick kittens and birds and dogs and everything. Some had the same gashes in their necks as Sally's little pup had, and she felt the dog shiver in her backpack as a nurse stepped towards them. "What can I do for you?" he asked, and Sally extracted the puppy from inside her backpack, handing it to the nurse. "It wandered over to my house with a gash in its neck. My father stitched a terrier skin graft on her and we put yarrow over her wound to help it heal. She'll need fresh bandages in an hour," she added. The nurse stared at her with pursed lips but nodded, calling for the doctor to come over and look at the animal. Then, the man thanked Sally and told her to go to school. Sally ran from the clinic and hopped on a bus that lead to her high school, twiddling her thumbs and wiping away tears that were escaping from her eyes. She glanced back at the clinic with longing as it disappeared behind her, wishing the puppy were her own.

To her dismay, she found she was late for school when she got there. She hopped off the bus and trudged towards the building with reluctance, pushing through its front double doors and wandering towards her homeroom looking at her feet. Her first class was math, and she apologized for being late and sat at the back, listening with rapt attention as the teacher explained trigonometric identities. Sally was in the eleventh grade math class, calculus, because it was her best subject. She could not wait to do calculus 2 next year. She heard that there were dual credit college courses she could sign down for after that. A girl named Naminé, who was in tenth grade, sat three seats ahead of her to her right, and she was doodling. Naminé was very smart and talented, but she was very quiet, like Sally.

The blond girl was drawing a boy named Riku, who sat a few seats ahead of her and was answering a question posed by the teacher. Riku was in eleventh grade. He was a very driven boy, and one of the handsomest in the school. He didn't like hanging around crowds, though, which Sally liked. He wasn't preoccupied with being adored so much as other students were. Sally's second class was English. She shared this class with children her own age. In an effort to force socialization amongst the students the teacher had formed the desks into groups for the new month. Sally hunted around for her seat and found with dismay that she was sitting across from Peter Pan. He did not like her much.

As the last bell rang, he stormed into the classroom with uncharacteristic rings under his eyes, rubbing at them in anger. He sat down at his desk with a scowl, glaring at Sally and folding his arms in front of him. Then, as she smoothed her red corduroy dress out in front of her, he wrinkled his nose and pointed to her shirt. "What is that?" he asked, and Sally looked down and gasped. Blood from the puppy's cut had gotten on the base of her shirt, along with some of the pus from its wound. As she felt her face go red, Sally realized she could not conceal her blush with her hair tied back. Instead, she jumped up and ran for the bathroom, excusing herself as she left. Sally charged forward with her hands covered over the spot of blood on her shirt, whimpering as she went inside the girl's bathroom at the end of the hall. She tried desperately to rub it off with water, but the stain would not come out. "Oh no!" she whispered, freezing as a toilet flushed behind her.

A girl in a long yellow dress and loafers traipsed out from one of the toilets and washed her hands, humming and peering at herself in the mirror. A few strands of hair fell in the middle of her face as she went for the hand drier, and she blew them away, humming. Sally tried to stay inconspicuous, but the girl behind her glanced at her with curiosity as she stood at the sink. There was silence, and the girl pursed her lips, drying the remainder of the damp on her hands with her skirt as she walked towards Sally, who cowered in the corner. The girl glanced down at Sally's shirt, and slung her backpack around so that she could rummage inside it. Then, she brought out a small clear bottle with a smile. Sally stared at her before reaching out and taking the bottle, reading its front with confusion. "Ammonia?" she murmured, and the girl nodded. "It's great for taking out stains, is your shirt cotton?" asked the girl. Sally nodded and the girl beamed. "Then it should be fine," then, her eyes widened and she rummaged in her bag again, pulling out a pair of lab gloves. "Wear these," she muttered as Sally slipped the gloves on, "ammonia's dangerous."

Sally washed the stain out of her shirt with the ammonia as the strange girl watched. Then Sally washed the ammonia out of the cloth and ran it under the air dryer before pulling it back over her head in satisfaction. The girl clapped and held out her hands for the gloves and ammonia, and Sally placed the supplies in her hands. "Where did you get ammonia?" Sally asked as the girl returned her things to her backpack. The girl laughed. "I do experiments at home," she sighed, patting her backpack, "I steal the supplies from the science lab." Then, her eyes widened and her lips pursed. "I've said too much," she muttered, going for the door, but Sally stopped her. "My father is a scientist too!" Sally breathed in excitement, smiling. "He stitched an allogeneic skin graft onto a little terrier that wandered by our house just yesterday!" she added in excitement, but the yellow dressed girl's smile disappeared. She scratched her head and sucked in a deep breath. "So he's a vet?" she asked. Sally giggled and shook her head. "No, he's a scientist. Usually he kills the animals that come by our house, but I was able to save this one," she added, touching her heart, "I wish I could have kept her," and the yellow dressed girl stared at her before nodding, waving goodbye, and leaving the bathroom. Sally glanced after her for a brief moment before returning to her classroom.

Peter Pan glared at her through the lesson, and when one of his classmates asked what was wrong, he told them that his dog had disappeared. "She ran off while we were walking home last night," Peter sighed, rubbing his face. "Aw!" lamented a girl named Selphie, setting her hands on her chin. "What's her name? We can look for her!" she added, sitting up straighter and smiling. Peter Pan brightened and began to describe the dog, making Sally's stomach turn the more she heard. Peter noticed her discomfort with narrowed eyes, and when he was finished describing his animal, he asked her what was wrong. Sally shrugged and bent her head over. Her palms were sweating very hard. She folded them over one another and let her ponytail fall in front of her face. "I'd hate if my dog came to any harm," Peter muttered, clenching his hands into fists. "Tink is my best friend," added Peter, and the girls at the table all sighed at the cuteness.

Sally was telling herself in her mind not to tell Peter what happened to his dog under any circumstances, but her heart was singing to her. She touched her chest, wondering what she would do. But Peter's eyes on her face made her nervous, and she glanced up at him and smiled. "I found your puppy," said Sally in a gentle voice. "She had a gash on her neck, so I took her to the vet's."

Peter stared at her in disgust, folding his arms in front of him and scowling. "There better not be anything wrong with her," he hissed. Sally shook her head, leaning forward in eagerness and explaining, "we gave her a terrier skin graft and set it with yarrow to stop the bleeding."

"You WHAT?" Peter roared, jumping out of his seat and advancing on Sally, who cowered. The teacher whipped around from the board and walked towards them, readjusting her glasses and staring down at the students. "What is going on?" she hissed, looking from Peter to Sally in anger. "You two have been whispering for the last twenty minutes of work time, and I've had enough. What is this outburst?" shouted the teacher, and Peter pointed at Sally, enraged. "She stitched up my dog!" he hissed, waggling his forefinger in Sally's face. Then he turned to her, shouting, "Tink isn't one of your stupid science experiments, Sally! She's a dog with feelings and a heartbeat!"

Sally tried to talk, but the whole class was staring at her and her breath caught in her throat. So she covered her trembling hands over her ears and closed her eyes, trying to lock out the looks of revulsion the class was giving her. The teacher shook her head and gave up, telling everyone to look to the blackboard, because she was handing out their new books for the quarter. "This marking period, we will be reading Frankenstein," she announced in excitement, and there was a burst of laughter from the whole room and a round of applause. "I didn't know we were reading biographies," Peter Pan snuck in, and there was more laughter from the area around his table. Sally bent her head low as her copy was set in front of her, and she picked it up and skimmed through it in curiosity. "Sally's already interested," added Peter, but the teacher pursed her lips and pointed outside the classroom door. Peter scowled and stood, shoving his hands in his pockets and trudging outside, slamming the door behind him, and the teacher glanced back at Sally before shaking her head and continuing the lesson.

At the end of class, Sally set her things into her book bag with slow strokes until every last student was gone. The teacher stared at her with discomfort as she set her things away and walked towards the door. "Sally," she called at the last moment, and Sally turned from the door to look at her. The teacher removed her glasses and smiled at Sally, tilting her head to the side. "When I was young I was discovering the world I inhabited, myself," explained the teacher, folding her hands together, "but I did it through my writing. Perhaps you should join the science club if you're interested in animals."

As Sally stared at her the teacher's smile faded and she shrugged, returning to her desk with a frown. Sally watched as she began grading papers, and left the room, looking at her feet as they cleared the carpeted hall and walked onto tiled floor that led to the cafeteria.

...

"Lovely day," Jane sighed, sucking in a deep breath as she and Naminé made their way out to the trees that lined the edge of the school. On summer days the girls would travel deep into the forest and up the mountain. They would call out their names at the top and then trudge back down. If they were really adventurous they would go down the other side of the mountain to the coast and stay the night in the abandoned shack on the pier. The next day they would wake up and start up the mountain again, have a picnic at its top, and descend back down through the forest and home.

"I've heard there are an unnatural number of dead animals lying about these days," Jane sang, hoisting her lunchbox over her shoulder and climbing into a tree. She sat down on one of the boughs and rested her back against the trunk; taking out the deli sandwich her mother had bought her as a treat. Naminé scowled as she attempted to climb the tree, whining when she got a scuff of dirt on her white dress. Eventually she made it to Jane's side and huffed as she sat down, pulling out a Pyrex container of smoked salmon and raspberries. Jane watched in fascination as Naminé ate. The girl switched between bites of salmon, brown cheese, and flatbread. "Yes, we love this country as it rises forth," Jane started singing with passion, inciting a ribbing from Naminé. "Shut up," the girl complained, digging into her salmon with excessive savagery. Jane laughed and dangled her legs over the edge of the tree, feeling the breath of summer wafting towards her from over the mountain.

"Isn't it Friday?" she asked, and Naminé nodded. "Do you want to hike to the beach this weekend?" she chirped. Naminé set her flatbread down and groaned, bending her head over. "I don't want to go!" she growled, but Jane folded her hands in front of her in defiance. "Don't you want to visit the beach?"

Naminé stared at her with narrowed eyes, pondering it. Then she shrugged. "If it's warm, we'll go," muttered the blond girl, getting a clap from her friend, who settled back into her own food in excitement. Twigs snapped below them and they looked down in curiosity just as bits of pinecones were thrown up at them. There was laughing as the two girls picked the pinecone bits out of their hair and food. Then, a boy called up to them, "Hey pretty ladies!"

Laughter erupted from the young man beside him, and the two grinned at each other. "Who's there?" Naminé asked Jane in fear. "The jerk patrol," responded Jane, and Naminé groaned with displeasure.

"You two having sex up there?" Vanitas asked, and his friend Jim laughed again, though this time less sincerely. Jane and Naminé glanced at each other, before packing up their things and getting ready to make an escape. But Vanitas was already climbing up the tree, blocking their exit. He sat down beside them and smiled at them, pinching Naminé on the nose and flicking Jane's forehead. "It's the tree people," he mocked, grinning wide. "Yes, but _you're_ the ape," responded Jane. Vanitas stared at her before his face contorted with anger. "You making fun of my color?" he growled, and Jane's defiance faded, and she stuttered, "No, I was just responding to your insult, with, a better one," she tried, adjusting her skirt and clinging to her backpack in fright. Vanitas looked from one girl to the other, before grinning and pushing Naminé back. The girl screamed as she fell backwards, but Vanitas caught her legs just before they slipped down from the tree.

The blond girl hung suspended by her feet in midair. "Everything is upside down!" Naminé wailed as Jane screeched for Vanitas to stop, but the boy grinned and peered down at Naminé with narrowed eyes. "I can see everything from here," he chuckled, and Jane gasped, trying to wrestle her friend from his grip. "Hey!" shouted Vanitas in return, holding his right hand up. "You try anything and she drops," he hissed. Jane's eyes went big, and she tried climbing down the tree, but Vanitas blocked her path. Jim stood on the forest floor with his hands in his pockets, looking up at Vanitas in discomfort. "Dude, lets quit it and go," he muttered, messing with his ponytail, but Vanitas laughed at him. "Getting cold feet?" he sighed. Then, he narrowed his eyes and shouted, "TRUST", letting go of Naminé and letting her fall. She screamed, but before she could hit the ground, Jim yelped in fright and caught her, blushing. "You asshole!" Jane roared, kicking Vanitas out of the tree. He did a backflip and landed neatly on the ground beside Jim, who glared at him as he stood Naminé upright. "That wasn't cool, man!" Jim snapped, shoving his hands in his pockets. He muttered an apology to Naminé, who folded her hair behind her ear and shrugged, and then he turned back to Vanitas with a scowl.

"Hey, I'm welcoming you into the fold," snapped Vanitas in reply, stepping towards Jim with outstretched arms. When the boy ignored him, Vanitas turned to Naminé and blew in her face, startling her and making her fall against the trunk of the tree with a yelp. Then he bent over her and mussed her hair up, chuckling as Jim cried loud objections behind him. Jane slipped out from the tree and pushed her way in front of Naminé, shielding her and digging a scalpel out of her backpack. Vanitas held his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes widening as he laughed. "Did you steal that from the science room?" He snorted, to which Jane nodded, adding, "I used it to dissect a cat. And if you move any closer I'll stick it down your throat." Naminé glanced up at her in horror, but Vanitas smiled, grinning at the challenge. He was getting ready to jump at Jane when a familiar voice whistled behind them.

The whole group turned their heads, trying to locate the sound, and their eyes fell on the purple dressed girl standing at the edge of the forest line. She clapped her hands and set them on her hips, rolling her eyes as she stepped towards Vanitas. "Great show, snarky," she drawled, pushing past Jim and backing Vanitas away from Jane and Naminé. "Though from what I hear about these two, you'd probably catch their interest when your heart stops beating," she added, wrinkling her nose at Jane's scalpel. "What is that supposed to mean?" Jane spat, getting worked up. The purple dressed girl broke out in laughter, setting her hands on her belly and leaning over in fits of giggles. "Aren't stuffed apes your thing, Jane?" she elaborated, making Jane gasp. "All animals interest me!" barked Jane, shoving her scalpel in her backpack and standing up tall. The purple dressed girl held her hands up and shrugged, rolling her eyes again. "Hey, maybe you're the one who's been messing with the cats," she muttered. Then she pointed at Jim, indicating Vanitas with her eyes. "What are you doing hanging around with this loser?" asked the girl, making Jim shrug. She stared at him for a moment before holding her hand out for him to shake. "Megara," she introduced as Jim shook her hand with reluctance. "My friends call me Meg. At least they would if I had any friends," she added, making Vanitas snort.

Jim stared from Vanitas to Meg in discomfort, shuffling his feet as Vanitas glanced at him with raised brows. Then, Vanitas chuckled and grinned at Meg, stretching his arms up over his head so that his shirt rose over his stomach. As Jane and Naminé craned their necks to get a better look, Meg narrowed her eyes at him and folded her hands in front of her. "You want to explore with me?" asked Vanitas with a sly grin, and Meg snorted. "Yeah, I'm feeling adventurous," she muttered, walking ahead of him. He glanced back at Jim and beckoned for him to come along, but Meg caught him, shouting, "I'm not a hot potato, asshole!" and Vanitas howled with laughter. As he charged ahead, Jane called "watch out! I've heard this guy mutilates animals," and Naminé nodded with her, adding, "that's where serial killers start."

Meg chuckled with an open mouth, turning and waving back to Naminé and Jane. "Thanks girls," she called after them, disappeared into the brush ahead, "I'll think about that when he and I are swapping spit." Then she was gone. Jim stole an awkward glance at Naminé, before scowling and heading back in the direction of school. "You can socialize with us," Jane tried, jumping up and holding her hand out for him to shake, but he wrinkled his nose and shook his head, muttering, "no thanks," as he headed out from the forest. Naminé and Jane stared after him until he disappeared around the side of the school building. Then they sat down in silence.

"Who was that girl?" Naminé asked in curiosity, making Jane scowl. "She's the 11th grade vamp," she muttered. "Proficient in excessive sexual conduct and home wrecking."

"She did help us escape from Vanitas!" chirped Naminé, resuming her salmon. Jane glanced at her and shrugged in reluctant agreement, before sighing and setting her food in her lap. "Now don't get me wrong, I'm for the struggle as much as any other girl, but," she explained, indicating with her left hand. Giving another long sigh, Jane messed with the piece of hair that always fell in her face, tucking it to the top of her head. But she abandoned elaborating on her previous statement, choosing instead to rummage through her bag and pull out her sketchbook. "I can't wait to sit by the beach," she sighed, tapping her pencil to her chin. "We shall have to bring picnic food. Think up your best premonitions."

"I don't think them up," Naminé cried, a touch offended. She finished her salmon and returned the empty Pyrex dish to her lunchbox, folding her hands in her lap and pouting. "I get gut feelings." To this Jane laughed and began chattering on about the science project she was working on, doodling a picture of a cat in her sketchpad. Naminé stared at her in discomfort, and a shiver ran through her spine as she looked around. "It's going to rain tonight," she murmured with a sigh, pointing around her. "That's why that curl of yours is giving you trouble," she added, pointing to the strand of hair that had fallen in Jane's face again. Jane rolled her eyes and pouted, pushing the strand to the top of her head once more. "We're going to the beach tomorrow rain or shine."

To this Naminé pursed her lips but did not complain, instead glancing above the trees. Big fluffy clouds filled the sky, rolling over the treetops in a lazy stream. As Jane drew, Naminé sat back and closed her eyes, taking out her own sketchbook and doodling in it. She began drifting off to sleep, but as she did, the sound of tapping on a soft surface clouded her thoughts and caused her to shake. When she opened her eyes, Jane was tapping her to see if she was all right. Naminé furrowed her brows and stared down at the page in front of her. She'd doodled a house in darkness, and Jane stared over it in curiosity. "You were mumbling while you drew," murmured Jane. "You may have even had your eyes closed. Impressive." Then she continued doodling cats in her books, labeling their body parts in between whistling "Goodbye Ladies" from _The Music Man_.

Naminé wrung her hands together and bit her lip, suddenly not feeling as keen on the beach trip as she had an hour ago. The sound of a ringing bell caught her ear and she jumped up, beckoning for Jane to join her. The two girls gathered their things and returned to the school, parting with each other for their last two classes of the day. Naminé's third class was art, and she sped towards it in excitement, meeting with Olette in the hallway. The two girls chattered about the current art project, a mixed media portrayal of their greatest dreams and fears. "I want to do mine in ink," Olette whispered, her eyes shining with thoughts of what her painting would turn out like. "I'm doing watercolor and pastel," Naminé sighed, touching her hand to her heart. "I love those mediums."

Out of the corner of her eye Olette noticed the photography class traipsing out the back door to take pictures outside. She waved to Pence before he disappeared around the side of the building with the rest of the kids then she went inside her own classroom.

Olette and Naminé sat at the same table and pulled out their art supplies, setting them in front of them with care. The teacher walked in with a Starbucks coffee in her hands and adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses as she set her own bag down. Then she clapped her hands and demanded the class's attention. "I want you all to write down on a sheet of paper what your greatest fears and dreams are," she announced, "Then write down your favorite medium and your least favorite medium."

Naminé bit her lip as the teacher announced this, knowing that there would be a catch, especially for the mediums. Naminé hated drawing with charcoal because it was messy, but it could be made soft. India ink could be mixed with water, but Naminé hated working with it even more, because all it made were lines. She preferred soft color. Olette on the other hand liked line work with ink. It was her specialty. She hated watercolor and pastels irritated her. Naminé decided to be honest, and wrote down ink and watercolor on her piece of paper. Then she thought about her greatest fears and dreams. She wrote 'becoming an artist' for dreams. But Naminé did not know what her greatest fear was. So she put down 'not becoming an artist'.

"What did you write?" Olette asked. Naminé shrugged and showed her her piece of paper. Olette nodded with a sigh, shrugging in agreement. Then she pushed her page in front of Naminé. She had written the same mediums down, but her dream was 'becoming a comic writer', and her greatest fear was 'getting boring'. The teacher poked around the student's tables, glancing at their lists to advise them on how to start. When she came to Olette and Naminé, she bit her lip and put her hands on her hips. "With abstract arts, feelings are represented. With representational arts, actions are depicted," murmured the teacher, letting her hands float through the air, caressing it with invisible strokes as she explained. "What we are attempting with this project is to create images of our dreams and fears, to make them tangible. The dream and fear are two distinct yet connective subjects, and you can decide which one lies in the forefront and which lies in the background." Then she held up a finger, adding, "but do not let them battle each other. They must interact to create a picture. You might discover something of yourself in the process."

"And you must utilize your favorite and least favorite mediums," the teacher added, inciting a groan from the classroom. Naminé chewed at her lower lip as she stared down at the page before her, thinking of a tangible way to represent her fears and dreams. She scribbled 'facing my fears with my art,' for her dream. Then, for her greatest fear, she wrote, 'the future'. The facing the fears with art would be simple. She could draw a picture of herself with her notepad, facing the future. But what would the future be? Naminé thought of the mansion she had seen while dreaming. A distinctly unpleasant feeling had accompanied that vision.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Olette whispered, and Naminé nodded, pulling out a bank sheet of paper and mapping out with blue pencil what she would draw next. "Where do you buy your ink?" inquired Naminé. Olette grinned and pulled out an extra bottle, sliding it to her and asking, "Where can I find cheap watercolors?" in return.


	3. Jane

Naminé groaned when she heard the knock on her window. So she peeked open one eye and peered towards the shutters, finding with great distress that Jane had climbed into the tree at the side of her room and was waving to her, a picnic bag wrapped around her stomach. Sitting up in bed, Naminé scowled, trudged over, and opened the window, rubbing the grit out of her eyes. "Why the tree?" asked Naminé with a sigh, but Jane shrugged, climbing into her bedroom window and setting the picnic basket on the floor. Then she sucked in a breath of fresh air and grinned. "It's gorgeous today. My curl isn't giving me trouble, either!" she added, pointing to her forehead. Naminé pursed her lips before leaning out the window to feel the breeze. As it wafted past her she glanced at the sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight for miles, not even wisps of one. "You're right," muttered Naminé, "there won't be rain today." Jane beamed and shrugged as Naminé racked her mind for one more deterrent, turning on the radio she kept at the side of her bed.

The machine sputtered music and syllables as Naminé searched for the morning news channel. When she found it, she stepped back from the device and folded her arms in front of her, eyeing Jane's every reaction. "As we herald in April next week, right in the middle of the season of love, a shadow covers our springtime pleasure with the discovery of mutilated animals across the city," explained the announcer in a grave tone. "In the past month, pets from all over the metroplex have been coming to the veterinarian clinic on Main Street with gaping wounds in their necks. The main demographic are cats, especially feral and roaming ones, but dogs, bobcats, and birds are all in trouble too. It is believed this is due to pumas traveling past the confines of the mountains they usually inhabit, and we urge all citizens to be careful of their pets. As for weather this weekend, it's going to be blue skies throughout, a lovely time to go to the beach," Naminé charged for the radio and snapped it off just as this weather announcement was made, but she was too late to ebb Jane's interest. The girl clapped her hands in excitement, balling them into fists and jumping up and down.

"How exciting!" breathed Jane, holding her cheeks. "A real live puma." Then she charged for the picnic basket and ripped her notebook from within, skimming through it with narrowed eyes. "I've read that when confronted by a wild cat, the best thing to do is watch it, make yourself appear larger, and slowly back away. If it turns aggressive, you shout and bang rocks together, and if attacked you fight back." As Jane explained, Naminé stared at her in horror, gripping her bed covers in her hand. "How would we make ourselves appear larger?" asked Naminé, "Jump on each other's shoulders?"

"No," Jane scowled in return, closing the book and casting it on the bed. "It'll be fine, we aren't moving at dawn or dusk, and there are two of us," she added. "The puma won't attack a group."

"But what if there is more than one puma!" shouted Naminé. Jane opened her mouth, but then closed it, thwarted. She tapped her notebook's cover before folding her arms over her front and sighing. "I really wanted to inspect some dead cats," she murmured, pouting. "Why don't you go to the clinic?" mollified Naminé in reply. Jane scowled. "I guess we could do that instead," she acquiesced, and Naminé beamed, jumping up and running to her self-painted wardrobe at the left side of the room. She picked out her cotton white shorts and a white t-shirt and threw them on before helping Jane hustle their picnic together.

While Jane climbed out from the window and descended Naminé's tree, Naminé descended the stairs to see if her father was still home. He wasn't, so she shrugged and charged outside, running down the front lawn towards Jane with a big smile. The two girls hurried to the train station and caught the 9 o'clock ride to the city center just in time, getting off at thirty minutes past. Then they ran towards the clinic, pushing the front door open and peeking in before they entered, to see how busy it was. It was a tad busy, but not terribly so, and Jane glanced at Naminé in satisfaction as they walked towards the front desk. The receptionist grinned at the girls, leaning in towards Jane with a smile. "How's your father?"

"He's in India," sighed Jane in response, a hint of envy coloring her voice, "doing an expedition on the elusive kallana pygmy elephants of the Sahyādri Mountains." Naminé glanced at her in surprise as she spoke. Jane had not told Naminé her father was on an expedition, meaning that she had very much wanted to go. The aspiring scientist seemed close to tears as the receptionist gushed about what a fantastic explorer her father was, and Naminé's heart fell as she shuffled her feet in thought. "I was wondering if I could see some of the cats," asked Jane in a syrupy tone of voice when she could get a word in edgeways, but the receptionist wrinkled her nose in discomfort and shook her head, tilting it to the side with affection. "I don't think the vet wants to be distracted right now."

"I wouldn't distract her," Jane assured, putting her hand to her heart, but the receptionist continued to shake her head. Jane eventually relented, pursing her lips and nodding in return. She left the vet's with a short goodbye as Naminé tagged along behind her, but once outside, Jane fell to the curb with despondence. Naminé squatted beside her, careful not to get her white cotton shorts on the pavement, as Jane watched the careful kneeling motion with a scowl. "Why must you always wear white?" she muttered, looking across the road. There was a melancholy silence, until Naminé tried, "Do you want to explore the forest near the school?" making Jane brighten a tad. "I'm sure there would be no pumas there." To this Jane nodded and smiled, thinking of the possibilities as she swept her hair from in front of her face.

Pressing her hands on her knees, Naminé hoisted herself up, holding out her hand for Jane to take. Jane took on a forlorn expression, holding her hand out to Naminé with affected reluctance. But she soon lumbered up and walked back to the train with slow steps, trudging behind Naminé, who was now the leader. The two girls rode towards the school in silence, but once they got off the bus and passed by a heap of road kill, Jane began to talk with excitement. The green roof of the school separated from the trees ahead and its white brick walls shone forth as the girls drew nearer. When they were a short distance away they became aware of the sound of wheels and bashing wood resounding west of them. Naminé and Jane glanced at each other in discomfort. An accompanying mixture of cheering and shouting blared ahead, but the girls mustered up some courage and walked forward.

The source of the noise lay at the entrance of the building, on the stair ramps parallel to the front doors. Four boys were rolling across the concrete on skateboards, doing a variety of tricks as Jane and Naminé tried to make out who they were as they passed. They recognized Jim from yesterday. He was talented at skateboarding, perhaps the best of the group. Circling around him were two other boys, seniors, but another, mysterious man stood at the center of the posse, holding his skateboard under his arms. "Jack, do your caballerial," the unfamiliar one announced. One of the seniors glanced towards him from two deep lashed dark rimmed eyes and grinned. His black irises burned like coals from his ghost white skin as he whizzed past the metal railing at the sides of the stairs and jumped up, turning in midair and landing on the iron surface. He grinded down the railing and kicked off it, flipping the board under his feet before landing on the ground and veering around the potted plants that lined the stairs. As his friends cheered for him the tall boy beamed, catching sight of Jane and Naminé as they walked past. He stopped riding and waved to them, forcing them to wave back out of politeness, before he returned to his friends, who had traveled to the curb and were now seated.

The unfamiliar man beckoned to the girls, shouting, "Come join us ladies," so that the seated senior ribbed him in the stomach. It was apparent Jim was not established enough to have this privilege, so instead he laughed sheepishly at the spectacle before him. The oldest member of the group of boys rummaged around in his pocket, shooting a sly glance at the boys around him, and the senior who had elbowed him scowled. "Phoebus, you can't break out the pot already!" he snickered, but Phoebus ignored him, arranging his supplies in front of him as he lit up. Jim shuffled close to him with eagerness during, watching with scrutiny as Phoebus took a long drag from his pipe while Jack and the other senior hoisted themselves up and returned to the top of the stairs, flying out over them and whizzing up the wheelchair ramp to do it again.

Jane watched Phoebus with a wrinkled nose as he puffed little ringlets, his eyes glazed over as he watched the smoke trails ascend to the sky above his scalp. Naminé glanced around her in discomfort as her friend shook her head in disgust. "Maybe this was a bad idea," muttered Naminé, making Jane nod. "Between four potheads and a puma, which would you take?" asked Jane, to which Naminé replied, "the puma."

"Are you fancy females taking a walk on the wild side?" Phoebus drawled, swaying as he pointed towards the trees ahead. Naminé and Jane narrowed their eyes at each other, picking and choosing what they would say. For the first time, Jim tore his gaze away from his stoned companion to examine who exactly he was speaking to. Jim recognized the girls immediately and scowled, standing up and pushing off on his skateboard, riding off to meet the two other boys on the stairs. "We're meeting friends," Naminé blurted out, but her poorly drawn up strategy backfired when Phoebus jumped up and held his arms out to them. "Hey, let's all trip together!" he beamed, turning and getting his pipe together. "You ladies puff the dragon?" he asked, making Jane wrinkle her nose as he attempted to hand the freshly stuffed pipe to her. "My father tried it once in the sixties," responded Jane, stepping away from the glass that was being thrust between her eyes. "He vomited and passed out." To this Phoebus tutted, shaking his head and sighing. "Mighty shame," he muttered, taking another drag as he scratched his brown goatee, which contrasted interestingly with his beach blond hair, cut in a neat bowl shape around the nape of his neck. "Stop bothering them, man!" called Jack ahead, cupping his skinny hands around his mouth for projection, but Phoebus waved him off and began humming nirvana, drumming his thighs with his hands. "Jane, you were in my science class last year," he announced, making Jane furrow her brows in confusion. Then, the man pursed his lips, correcting himself. "Wait, that was Lorina," he snorted and began picking invisible bubbles from the air. Jane gave him a good moment's stare before wrenching her attention away from him and continuing into the forest with Naminé trailing behind. "Hey!" protested Phoebus, leaning back as the girls left. "What about us meeting your friends?"

"Maybe we should take him along incase we do come across a puma," Jane muttered under her breath, and Naminé tried not to laugh. As they passed by their usual lunch tree and entered into the deeper confines of the forest, the two girls began talking. Dead cats had become a scarcer occurrence in the past few days, Jane explained as they trudged on. Before Namine was aware of it, Jane had lead her deeper into the forest and away from the path, keeping up a steady stream of conversation as they went along. With difficulty Naminé stepped over little huddles of dogwood and stretches of poison ivy, their tendrils reaching up like sly fingers, grasping at her socks. Water flowed somewhere to their right, and as they came upon the river that ran through the forest from the mountain, Jane spotted a dirt caked clump of fur on the bank opposite to them. In a fit of excitement she slid down the decline beside the river and hopped across the rocks that ran to the other bank. When both girls reached the other side of the river, Jane slipped her scalpel and gloves from the back of the picnic basket and bent over the mysterious creature hidden beneath the sand. After slipping her gloves on, she prodded at what appeared to be the body of a half buried cat with her blade and surveyed it, tutting. "This is a fresh one," she murmured in wonder. Then, her brows furrowed as she examined the carcass further. She dug its hind legs out from the ground, and Naminé gasped when its abdomen was revealed. The bare ribs of the animal hung limply between its arms, the muscle lining them purple with decay. Within their confines was the cavern of the animal's abdomen, empty except for maggots and strings of tendons. Naminé covered her eyes, squeaking in shock as Jane pierced the scalpel to the side of the animal's neck and made a quick incision across its jugular. Then Jane picked up the cat with care and held it upside down. Two drops of black blood fell from the its exposed abdominal cavity and mouth, but other than that the creature was dry.

"I've never seen such a feeding pattern," murmured Jane, shaking her head. "Is it a bobcat?" asked Naminé, peering at the animal in fear, and Jane nodded. "But pumas don't drain their victim's blood," she explained as an afterthought, biting her lip in concentration. As she examined the gashes that had opened the animal's neck and torso, Jane noticed that its right leg hung abnormally. Upon closer inspection, two holes could be seen quite clearly, etched into the femoral artery of the creature as if punctured with two needle-like claws about a half an inch in diameter. A gasp escaped Jane's throat as she began forming a hypothesis in her mind, and her palms sweated with nervousness. Looking around, she noticed faded paw prints leading away from the dead cat. Drops of blood were still indented in the forest floor at their side, along with mangled dirt. "It looks like the bobcat stopped moving right here," Jane murmured, pointing to the spot. She slipped her magnifying glass out of her picnic basket and squatted at the side of the prints, leaning over them and setting the glass to her eye. Naminé stood at her side, glancing around every so often with impatience, but Jane stayed rooted in position, muttering to herself. "These are the cat's back paws. It must have tried to run away. The killer caught it by the legs just as it tried to jump and jabbed some sort of thick circular blade right into its femoral artery. Maybe that's how its blood was drained," added Jane. As she spoke a shiver ran up her spine and she leered away from the cat, following the prints laid into the ground behind it with quick steps. "The thing landed on its stomach and pulled the cat back. There are footprints before hand, though they're very faint. The beast was light and two legged, barefoot. Human..." Jane's voice trailed off and her fingers trembled as they set the magnifying glass back in the basket. As she peered into the spaces between the tree boughs above, their brown, characteristically protective arms turned into long gnarled fingers, hanging in silent watch. "Perhaps the beach isn't such a wonderful plan after all," added Jane, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Usually Naminé would have added a smart remark at this point. But when she did not even respond, Jane's discomfort grew, and she glanced to where her companion had been standing in curiosity, her eyes widening when she realized that the girl was gone. "Naminé!" Jane barked, stepping to and fro with indecision. But as she heard the girl's faint voice in the distance Jane ran towards it, breathing a sigh of relief when the familiar pale silhouette of Naminé bobbed ahead, following the cat's paw prints along the dirt path that sloped deeper into the trees. She would lose them every so often in the brush the cat had traveled through, and had to pick through the foliage with care, each time giving Jane a chance to catch up. The human footprints were very light and hard to see, but they pursued the now dead cat, keeping a distance of about fifteen feet from its prey until it made its attack. The dead wind around grew to a slight breeze, billowing past the girls as the sun rose higher in the sky. Then, as the cat prints began veering a sharp right, the girls stumbled upon a forest clearing strange to them. The blue sky gleamed down from overhead, undeterred by any tree encroaching on the circular opening of grass, its borders lined by an edge of fern. The midday sun's rays fell upon the girl's faces and their stomachs grumbled as they peered across the clearing. "We're lost," Jane whispered as she clung to her scalpel in fear. "I hate being lost."

"We can just follow the footprints back," Naminé whispered with atypical bravery. She stepped past the fern border of the clearing and peered out from the trees, onto the space ahead. At the other side, where the trees reconvened, their canopies enveloping the sun, there was a faint glint of glass. It shone from the attic of an old, red stone building, forming before the girls' very eyes through a haze of green. Its brown top loomed from the distance, inlaid with broken windows and rotten shutters. As Naminé stared at its contours she remembered her dream, and the drawing of the house in darkness. The brick house ahead sat silent behind the trees, shrouded in shadow. "Oh gosh," whispered Naminé, "My greatest fear. It was real all along."

Jane furrowed her brows in puzzlement, trying to step forward into the clearing, but Naminé barred her path, indicating the border. Just in case someone was _inside _the house, the girls decided it would be best to keep to the shadow around the clearing. They trudged parallel to the border of fern, and when they were about twenty feet from the house, they crouched low to the ground and stared at its broken windows, watching for movement. When they found none, they glanced to one another for a final decision. "It's dangerous," Jane muttered. "It could be the serial killer's lair," added Naminé. "Should we do it?" asked Jane. "Might as well," Naminé replied. They nodded at each other one last time to be sure, before standing and walking towards the building. "Do you have a flashlight with you?" Naminé whispered, but Jane furrowed her brows, responding, "I don't want the thing to notice us."

Naminé's eyes went big as saucers as Jane said this, but she nodded and glanced forward with determination. After a few more moments of walking, though, Naminé made Jane halt, and told her as nicely as she could that she sounded like an elephant tramping through the brush. Jane was offended, but she relented and let Naminé go forward on her own, keeping a close eye on her. The blond girl moved like a ghost, reaching the entrance of the house in a matter of seconds. As she passed by its windows she ducked to the ground, hoping that if anything was in there, that it had not seen her. With as silent a trod as possible she crawled around the building, peeking in each window at the empty rooms inside. Jane sat on the forest floor hidden behind a pine trunk twenty feet away, wringing the hem of her khaki shorts in her fingers. When Naminé disappeared around the backside of the house Jane's breath caught in her throat, but she continued staring until Naminé crawled around the other side.

The fourth ground floor room Naminé came across appeared to be a living room, with a fireplace and an ancient rocking chair inside of it. Whitish brown wisps of wood littered the floor like wings, shifting in the wind that blew through the windows. The wings seemed to convene in front of the fireplace, settling themselves neatly atop one another, fluttering. But as Naminé stood up and leaned inside the left window of the room the smell of rotting flesh hit her and she covered her mouth in nausea. In the time her eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the room, the bits of wood cascaded across the ground took horrible form, filled with pores and with cakes of green flesh clinging to their sides. A terrible curiosity stirred within Naminé, and like a moth to light she leaned further, sliding over the window and into the room, stifling her breath as she moved forward with silent steps. When she reached the front of the fireplace she shuddered. The feathers of bones shifted around her feet as she stepped forward. Piles of animal carcasses were stacked delicately beneath the hearth, their empty stomachs and hollow, bloodless eyes staring forward, reflecting the flies that infested them.

Naminé felt herself going faint as she stepped away from the fireplace, but with the last of her strength she lurched for the window and tumbled out from it, charging back to Jane with silent footfalls. Once she had returned, Jane opened her arms out and Naminé ran into them, stifling a sob, and when Jane tried to ask questions Naminé clamped her hand over the girl's mouth and pushed her back the way they had come, following the cat prints. Yet midway in return, Naminé could keep silent no longer.

"I found the missing cats from town," whispered the girl, her hands trembling. "They're all lying in the fireplace of that house." As she said this, she covered her face with her hands and blinked back tears. Naminé hated looking at dead anything, especially cat corpses. But this was beyond anything she'd ever seen in the biology lab. Jane wrinkled her nose as Naminé explained what she'd seen, pursing her lips with thought. After Naminé had finished blubbering, Jane asked if the corpses' blood had been drained, but the girl stared at her, aghast. "What?" asked Jane defensively in return, folding her arms in front of her. "This information is important!"

"Their stomachs didn't have any organs in them!" Naminé nearly screeched, clamping her hand over her mouth and repeating the statement in a whisper. Jane rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand and sighed in exasperation, trying to get Naminé to calm down. "A true predator would eat the muscle of the animal, not just its organs. And it would not drink its blood because it would give itself iron poisoning if it did." She tapped her chin as she explained, narrowing her eyes as she spoke. "The gashes on the neck and torso make it _appear _as if a wild animal were enacting the killings. But the efficient blood draining and organ removal tells another story."

Suddenly, the girls heard the sound of whistling and froze, holding each other for support. As they stared around the forest, they saw a dark figure walking towards them, crushing twigs beneath his feet as he moved. _"Oh the farmer and the cowman must be friends," _he sang in a tenor voice, kicking a scuttling animal out of his way. _"Territory folks should stick together, territory folks should all be pals. Cowboys dance with the farmer's daughters, farmers dance with the rancher's gals." _Something inside the boy whispered to him, and he fell silent, hunching down and peering around the forest floor in curiosity. When his eyes fell upon the backs of Jane and Naminé, hiding behind the tree ahead of him, he snickered, darting over and grabbing Naminé by the hair. "What are you doing on my land?" Vanitas drawled as Naminé fought under his grip, screeching with fright. Jane stared at the proceedings in shock, thinking for a split second that she'd left her scalpel in the picnic basket near the river. When she realized it was in her hands she tightened her grip on it and raised it behind her head, slamming it forward. Its surface, slimy from the bobcat it had punctured before, dug into Vanitas' arm, leaving a thick trail of blood as Jane slipped the scalpel from it. In turn, Vanitas lost his grip on Namine's hair and held his oozing arm in disbelief as the two girls made a run for it. The dead bobcat's footprints acted as their reference, while Vanitas tried to stop the bleeding of his forearm, cursing and spitting insults in deliberation.

It took Jane and Naminé half the time to return as it had coming, and when they saw their picnic basket laying untouched on the ground ahead they cried out in pleasure, grabbing it up as they ran past. "Should we have covered our footprints?" shouted Naminé as they continued running, but Jane shook her head. "It wouldn't matter," she muttered, "we've found the culprit." Naminé's eyes grew wide as she glanced behind them to see if Vanitas was following them. It didn't look like he was, but when Naminé noticed a tall shadow bobbing a ways behind, picking up speed, she screeched and pushed Jane forward. The girls ran as fast as they could, and when they got to the river, without a single thought they jumped over it, barely landing on the other side, their shadows hovering across the water as if weighing them towards it. Once on the other shore, though, they scrambled forward on their hands and knees and ascended the edge of the overhang that peered over the running water, and turned around. Vanitas lunged towards the river with incredible speed, his eyes smoldering with rage, but once he heard the gushing water he halted in indecision, scowling as he slid down the bank. He sloshed through the rapids and scrambled up the opposite bank, watching with a forlorn gaze as Jane and Naminé's figures faded in the distance, shadowed by the boughs of the trees overhead. As the girls glanced back one last time, Vanitas shook his head and gave up, sloshing back across the river and disappearing in the opposite direction.

"I think he's given up!" squeaked Naminé, as Jane panted with big puffs of breath in front of her. This news was good enough for both of them to stop running, so they slowed down to a light jog and tried to catch their breath at the side of a large pine. To Naminé's relief, the top of the school jutted up beyond the trees like a great green beacon, and Jane nudged her on the shoulder. "What were the boy's names?" she asked, but Naminé shrugged. "All I can remember is Phoebus," muttered Naminé. Jane nodded and howled his name into the wind several times. Then, she and Naminé ran until they were at the edge of the trees looking out onto the school.

Phoebus was at the base of the school entrance steps, singing in whispers whilst his friends filmed each other's tricks, but when the wind carried his name from inside the forest, he closed his mouth and held his hand up. "I totally heard voices, man," Phoebus assured his friends as they quit talking, "the wind was calling my name."

"It was the pot, man," a senior called as he grinded down the rail, but Phoebus shook his head. "It was us," puffed Jane in return, dragging herself and Naminé out to meet them. The girls were both sweating profusely and must have had rather unfortunate expressions on their faces, because Phoebus, the unnamed senior, and Jack all rode towards them. The boys sat beside them as they collapsed onto the curb, staring at them in concern. Jim eventually rode to their side, trying not to roll his eyes. "You okay?" asked the freshman in a half ass way, but his senior counterparts shushed him and returned to the girls. "Why did you call me?" Phoebus asked, his eyes brightening. "Did you meet your friends?"

Jane and Naminé stared at each other with meaningful glances before returning their gaze to the boys in front of them. "We were examining dead cats in the forest and came across a rather nasty specimen," explained Jane, and the unnamed senior wrinkled his nose. "Why were you looking at dead cats?" he muttered, but Jack nudged him and whispered, "she's Taxo, remember?" The senior's eyes widened and he nodded his head, laughing at Jane's expense, but Jane rubbed her face in her hands and sighed. "I abhor that nickname," muttered Jane. "I do not stuff the animals I find. I examine them and then I provide them adequate burial," she explained in a growl. "Autopsies of animals can give us so much information about the state of our ecosystem."

Jack looked remorseful for his slip, and he shrugged, muttering an apology. Jane forgave him quickly and stood up, gripping her picnic basket in her hand, but the skinny boy stopped her and grinned. "I have no manners, I haven't introduced my friends," he murmured, opening his arms to the three boys in front of him. "I didn't ask for an introduction," responded Jane flatly, and Jack's eyes went big with anxiety. One of his friends stood up and patted him on the shoulder before holding his own hand out for Naminé to shake. "I'm Demyx, these are my boys Jack, Phoebus, and the new kid, Hawkins." Jim saluted the girls and beamed, gripping his skateboard under his arm. Demyx grinned and pointed to himself, asking if Jane would like to know their nicknames. Jane shrugged and nodded, folding her arms in front of her in slight satisfaction. "I'm Dum-Dum," Demyx started, and then he pointed to Jack, "he's Skelly, Phoebus is Faux-Pas, and Jim is Fish until he becomes a sophomore."

"But you guys will be gone by then!" Jim whined and Demyx snorted. "Not if my science prof has anything to say about it!" he shouted, howling with laughter. Phoebus fist pumped him and grinned. "Held back two years myself man, barely managed to make it out of the twelfth grade alive."

As the boys whooped and hollered at what Jane perceived to be their own stupidity, she beckoned for Naminé to get up, and they began to walk off, Naminé waving back at the boys in apology and Jane ignoring them. "Wait, you never told us about what you found in the forest," Jack enticed, making Jane stop in deliberation. She turned around again, itching to tell them of their discoveries. "Someone we know has been killing cats and draining their blood," she blurted out, and Naminé added, "He might go onto humans next."

"A vampire?" Phoebus roared in excitement, but the boys shushed him and listened to Jane in rapt attention. Jane shrugged. "He may imagine himself as a vampire. He takes out his victims' insides. Be careful," she added. The boys gasped as they looked at each other. Then they glanced back at the girls. "Do you know who it is?" they asked in curiosity. Naminé pursed her lips, wondering if it was wise to spread rumors before they were one hundred percent sure of the culprit. But Naminé knew Jane would tell them because _she_ was one hundred percent sure. "Just keep an eye on Vanitas," hissed Jane, and the boys laughed in nervousness, whispering to one another.

As Jane and Naminé trudged back to the train station and paid for tickets they were silent. They shared their picnic food on the way home as they pondered, Naminé staring out the window at the mountains behind them. "Should we have told them?" she whispered in discomfort, but Jane shrugged, her eyebrows furrowed. "Perhaps not," muttered Jane finally. "But it's best to stay safe." Naminé bit her lip and stared out the window, thinking about her dream again. She asked Jane if she could borrow her notebook, and Jane nodded yes, handing it to her. Naminé took it in her hands and extracted Jane's pencil from the picnic basket, feeling nauseous as her hand glanced off the dull end of the scalpel. Then she began to draw.

...

Vanitas lay in his bedroom launching a tennis ball at his ceiling when his grandfather called him down to his study. The boy scowled and heaved himself off of the mattress before grabbing a jacket from his closet and trudging downstairs. His grandfather sat with his legs crossed in front of his ancient zitan wood desk, leaned back in his chair as he skimmed through the pages of the bible. When Vanitas noticed what he was reading his rolled his eyes, but he took a seat in front of the old man and said "hello". His grandfather ignored him, and instead continued to pour over the Old Testament. Then he sighed and cascaded the book to the side, letting it fall on the center of his desk before he turned and faced his grandson. He was smoldering, and without thinking, Vanitas' shoulders shrank back and tensed, but he kept his frown.

"Your principal has been speaking with me," growled the old man, cracking his knuckles and gritting his teeth. "He said that he will be forced to suspend you if matters continue to get worse."

"Maybe I want to get suspended," muttered Vanitas in reply, making his grandfather stand up and lean before him. "I think you need to reexamine your predicament in life," his pursed lips intoned as he gripped the sides of Vanitas' seat. He possessed Vanitas' same yellow eyes, but their rims were blacker, and his pupils were two little pins, long like a snake's. "I took you in because I saw an intelligence in you that no one else noticed. Because I refused to see you ruled by addiction and abuse. But if you continue to let your grades drop and continue to act out of turn I will send you back where you came from!" roared the old man in conclusion as Vanitas tried with all his might to sit up tall in front of him. His grandfather stared at Vanitas for a few long moments as Vanitas tried to hold his gaze, but then, he sighed and stood, rubbing his eyes as Vanitas watched him. "Take me to your room," the old man growled. Vanitas lowered his head before nodding and standing, returning upstairs. The old man stood in the bedroom doorway with his cane and gripped it in his hands. Vanitas met his eyes, shrugged, and began.

He lifted all of the covers off his bed, emptying them out. Then he hoisted up the mattress and had his grandfather feel the inside of it. Vanitas swept everything out from under the bed; bits of fluff, dead spiders and their egg sacks, books, and shoes. He opened all the drawers in his desk and vacated them. Then he had his grandfather look in his closet. When everything was finished, he returned everything to their rightful space and folded his hands in front of him in victory. His grandfather narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips further, beckoning for Vanitas to hand him the jacket he had around his shoulders. The boy's face went pale, but he nodded and slipped his jacket off. His grandfather took it from him and extracted the lighter and cigarettes from its pockets, narrowing his eyes. Then he shoved the supplies in his pocket, making Vanitas gape. "That stuff's not illegal!" whined Vanitas, making the old man chuckle. "It will be illegal until you are eighteen."

"I can smoke if I want!" Vanitas hissed in return, snapping, and his grandfather's eyebrows rose in surprise. "And I don't care if my grades and shit go down because I don't want to be anything!"

There was silence as the old man read his grandson's eyes. Then the old man chuckled, returning, "you will do your hour's study tonight, and then you will read bible verses in apology for your insolence."

"I don't care about your stupid bible!" Vanitas howled in reply, stopping himself from raising his arms. His grandfather stood in front of him and narrowed his eyes, turning around and moving towards the stairs. "I know you will try and escape tonight. If you return home drunk, you will stay outside till you are sober." Then, he was gone. The study door clicked downstairs, and Vanitas jumped on his bed and screamed into his pillow, before grabbing his empty jacket and charging down the stairs. Once outside he launched himself over the wrought iron fence surrounding the spacious home he inhabited and hunted around the small stone wall that the bars jutted out from. Removing a small piece of cinder block from the surrounding stone, Vanitas extracted his alcohol from within the wall and shoved it in his pocket, trudging down the sidewalk, humming. This graduated to whistling, and once he bounded past the mansion and into the woods he threw up his middle finger to the house behind and slid his liquor from his pocket. "Fuck you," he muttered, eyeing the house behind with a sly glance. The windows reflected the trees ahead and the curtains of the upstairs rustled, but no face peered out of them. Vanitas grinned and turned around, singing full voice as he kicked a rock in front of him.

On nights like this, Vanitas would ride the train into town and see what parties he could crash, but he didn't feel like seeing anyone tonight. Instead, he figured he could sit on top of the mountain and look out on his city. The pines above spiraled into the sky, peering down at him in silence. But the wind whispered past their boughs as if they attempted communication. Its breath moved past in hurried gusts, and the trees shivered. Vanitas took his first swig of liquor, letting it burn his throat as it rippled down into his stomach. Then he howled in pleasure and charged forward, jumping over fallen trunks and bushes, grinning wildly and staring from side to side. There were pumas prowling the forest these days, but a large part of Vanitas wanted to run into one, just to see if he could kill it.

The gash that Jane had etched into his arm stung as he flexed the muscles lining his wrist. Vanitas scowled as he stared down at it, taking another long chug of alcohol and pursing his lips. A flash had passed Jane's eyes as she stared at him that morning. It was one of deep fear, and then blazing anger. The whole ordeal had taken Vanitas aback. He had never expected a person of Jane's disposition to be capable of such violence. Only the strong were blessed with that kind of rage, or so he thought. As he trudged towards the base of the mountain ahead of the pines, he twirled the brown bottle in his hands, staring at the ground. Then he reached in his back pocket and glanced at his phone, deciding to call Meg. The dial tone rang until her voice came over the line, asking the caller to leave a message. Vanitas scowled as he listened and clicked to end the call, shoving the phone back in his pocket. She had been avoiding him for some reason.

Vanitas' voice rose above the trees as he warbled another show tune, downing another glug of alcohol as he trudged forward. The first stage of intoxication for Vanitas was thoughfulness, which bled into pleasant warmth, which buzzed through him, rolling into the third state. His extremities would tingle, and he was taken over by an ecstatic, paranoid energy that made him feel a step further with time than the people around him. His senses heightened as Vanitas slipped into the third stage, and his ears pricked up as he saw a hint of red brick in the distance. _"The old cabin," _he thought to himself, trudging towards it in curiosity.

The sound of a shovel making contact with dirt resounded far ahead of Vanitas, and he stopped walking, gritting his teeth and listening with all his might. A labored breathing and grunting followed the sound of dirt being heaved from the earth it had been born to. Wails pierced the air as the earth was dumped nearby. Without thought Vanitas bounded towards the sound and crouched down, peering into the darkness ahead of him with trembling fingers. A shadow pushed a mound of some strange, red darkness into the hole it had dug in the ground, and began shoveling dirt back over it, whispering in a language strange. As it flung the dirt over the mound of seething rubbish, it shivered. Then it wailed and leaned over, clutching its stomach. After a moments rest, the creature returned to its shoveling, whisper upon whisper, its voice high and reedy in tone. Vanitas' breathing grew heavier as thrills of fear coursed deep in his gut, and his heart gave a flicker as the shoveling stopped. The figure ahead straightened. Then, it stepped forward and sniffed.

Its feet padded like a child's as it shuffled forward. In the soft moonlight that shone through the clouds above it, the creature glowed white. Gaunt shadows played under its brows, and its mouth formed into a strange long line, glistened with red. With every fiber of his being, Vanitas commanded himself not to shake as he stepped backwards, shifting close to the ground. The creature chattered its teeth, before returning to its work, whispering strange again as it patted the dust over its pile. It laid grass over its work and sewed it into the ground with its fingers long and white, black tipped and clicking. Then, the sound of tapping on soft skin resounded in Vanitas' ears like a great fear from the back of his memory that stranded itself through the nerves of his spine, handed down to him generations ago. Each tap made his shoulders rise higher, but he kept his retreat slow, pounding out the rhythm of his heart by matching it to the wind that aided him. The white thing ahead was thirty feet away now, ten feet more and it was forty feet away. But it was listening. Though the hollow mounds of skin that acted as its ears were wretched, the careful padding of feet glanced off their eardrums and it craned its neck, tutting.

Vanitas counted his footsteps in his head, breathing out too fast when he reached fifty feet distance. The creature stopped moving completely, whipping its head to Vanitas' direction. It stepped forward with curled toes as its body lay in motion. Then, as Vanitas charged out from his hiding place and ran with all his might, the creature lunged forward and bounded after him, sailing across the ground with a loud cry that made the owls leave the trees. Vanitas felt the alcohol bottle knocking against his thigh pocket as he traveled and knew that he had to get home before he reached the forth state of drunkenness. When that stage hit, he would move slowly, he would stumble and become disoriented. He could not have that happen, not at this moment. At this moment, he was moving the fastest he had ever moved in his life. The sound of pained breathing echoed behind him, rising in volume as the creature gained on him, and Vanitas thought of every bible verse he could muster in the few seconds it took him to reclaim some calm. Then, old stories his elders told him smashed into his head and he sprinted faster, his heart burning in his chest.

"_The windigo is an evil creature that feeds on flesh," _his grandaunt whispered in his ear. _"Its heart is made of ice, and with each meal it grows bigger, until it lopes past trees and flings them to the side like sugar cubes. That's how snow storms happen." _

Panting resounded behind Vanitas, and he tilted his head forward as the city lights ahead came into view. The trees were thinning and he could make out the outline of his street, but the creature still chased him.

"_But if you are foolish, you could become a windigo, too. If you eat your brother's flesh, your heart will become cold and you will forget everything," _the old woman whispered in Vanitas' memory. The picture was hazy, and the old woman's cheeks were pink with drink, but she clapped her hands together the way she did when she was serious. _"That's why you've got to be generous and caring to all creatures. Even assholes," _she'd add in a whisper. That would always incite a giggle from Vanitas, and his mother would look up in indignation and shake her head.

The street lamps that lined the metal wall surrounding Vanitas' grandfather's mansion lit up ahead, like the lamplights that burned in his grandaunt's trailer, and the sigh of the animal behind Vanitas wailed through the air as it fell behind again. Its stomach injury impeded it, and Vanitas cleared the forest line and ran across his lawn, stepping up on the stone border surrounding the mansion and jumping up. He clung to the metal bars that ran across the top of the fence and hoisted himself over it, letting his bottle fall from his pocket onto the ground without care. Then he flung himself at the front door and howled for his grandfather to let him inside, grinning wildly at his swiftness. But the door did not open. The curtains of the upstairs window fluttered inside the glass, but no faces peered out from within. The sound of tapping on flesh entered Vanitas ear, and with horror, he turned around and noted a white shape lurching towards the fence, a white face with blood red eyes peering in at him.

"Let me in!" Vanitas screeched, pounding himself against the front door. Tears streamed from his eyes as he noted the alcohol bottle lying close to the fence, and an idea struck him. He screamed as he charged towards it, picking it up and taking it to the front of the house, where lanterns lit the sides of the great oak doors that barred him from safety. The white creature tailing him slithered up and over the great iron fence as Vanitas poured his whiskey over the grass and wrenched a lantern from the wall. Then, he smashed it against the ground, and the grass in front of him blazed up in flames, making the white creature howl with anger. Vanitas banged his feet against the front door of the mansion and screeched, but he could not take his eyes away from the creature ahead of him.

The fire magnified its features. It had long, pointed teeth, sharp thin canines that jutted from its mouth like straight tusks, its gums protruding from the thin skin that covered its skull, which was absent completely of hair. Its skin was transparent, and black veins pulsed softly beneath, faded but bulbous with age. And its eyes were set within deep, black sockets, beady but red, with little black irises staring forth from within, tracking Vanitas as the boy moved. Long, dark tipped fingers dolled against the skin of its scalp as it thought. Though the flames surrounding it spread, it crouched down, grinning, and Vanitas stared around in terror. Another idea clicked into gear within his muscles, and he took the steaming lantern from the fire and shifted to the windows that lined the front door, beating at them with the lantern as the creature crouched lower. The glass of the windows was strong and would not crack, and Vanitas' voice was growing hoarse from shouting. But the white creature would not be swayed, and in a deft leap it cleared the flames and landed in front of Vanitas.

As its long fingers uncurled, making contact with the sides of Vanitas' face, an alarm sounded overhead and the sprinklers surrounding the house shot up through the ground, bathing the lawn in a soft watery glow. There was a banging within the house, and the white creature grew scared as its fingertips punctured Vanitas' cheeks. But in a split second, it was gone, and Vanitas' grandfather was opening the front door, roaring with rage. Within fifteen minutes, a horde of neighbors had padded forth to see what was going on across the road, and fire engines screeched in front of the house to put out the flames that were engulfing the right patch of the mansion lawn. Attempts were made to reprimand Vanitas, but the boy was unreachable, trapped within the bounds of his mind as he fell in and out of consciousness.


End file.
